


Just Tarnsaurus Things

by redredribbons



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Kiss, M/M, Oral Sex, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4553670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redredribbons/pseuds/redredribbons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of vaguely-related Tarnsaurus ficlets-- some are not explicit, but most probably will be. Each part will have its own subset of warnings as appropriate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this part. Just some awkward first-time kissing.

Deathsaurus was an exceptional strategist and, as such, he considered himself reasonably competent at anticipating various turns of events. He knew he was on the List. He knew that, one day, Tarn and his cronies would come calling, inevitable as death itself (his War World and small army would buy him some time, but not an eternity). However, he hadn’t even come close to anticipating any of... this.  
  
Tarn calling for a truce. Granting amnesty. Proposing an alliance.  
  
Deathsaurus wasn’t one for holding grudges, so long as a mech could prove themself a useful crew member. The DJD certainly fit the bill-- Tarn in particular, given his unique gifts. And, it turned out, his leadership. Deathsaurus had been pleasantly surprised at Tarn’s lack of megalomania; the tank had no desire to usurp Deathsaurus’s authority or countermand him in any way. Tarn had wanted an alliance, not a takeover, and his actions continually reflected that. He treated Deathsaurus as an equal, and the War World’s crew with professionalism, respect, and dignity.  
  
Given their monumental goals of killing Megatron (something an entire army of Autobots hadn’t even been able to do after millennia of war) and dealing with the Consortia, Deathsaurus found himself spending more and more time with Tarn: plotting, strategizing. Socializing?  
  
Deathsaurus couldn’t pinpoint exactly when that had started. He supposed, now that Tarn wasn’t trying to kill him with it, the tank’s conversation was actually quite intelligent, witty, and engaging. Deathsaurus had never had qualms about giving an aesthetically pleasing mech their due, either. He’d seen pictures of Tarn’s mask in Decepticon scare propaganda, but those didn’t even hint at how unfairly good-looking the DJD leader was in person. Deathsaurus knew he was in trouble when he started to find Tarn’s haughty pretentiousness endearing instead of annoying. It occurred to Deathsaurus that he perhaps should be disturbed by this burgeoning attraction but, if he was honest with himself, it would hardly be the first time he’d ended up trying to sleep with someone who’d previously been trying to kill him (or vice versa). An unavoidable side effect of his roguish charm, he supposed.  
  
Flirting came easy and, best of all, was fully reciprocated. Tarn had a way of tasting words in that smooth, rich voice of his that made Deathsaurus’s spark throb-- and left him wondering what else the DJD leader could do with his vocalizer.    
  
First kisses were not something Deathsaurus usually left to chance or spontaneity, but with Tarn he couldn’t help himself. They shared drinks on the couch in Deathsaurus’s quarters in a now-regular evening ritual. Tarn sat so close, not shying away from increasingly frequent brushes of shoulders, arms, thighs, hands. His mask was off, his posture relaxed, and when he laughed, Deathsaurus, without the slightest thought, took hold of his chin and kissed him. It was as close to tentative as Deathsaurus had ever gotten-- feeling the texture of Tarn’s lips with his own, nothing more.  
  
Tarn froze. The gun barrels on his back jolted upright in surprise. After several moments of no response Deathsaurus pulled back, swallowing bitter disappointment. Had he misread the situation that badly?  
  
“Not into it, huh?” Deathsaurus said, “Sorry.”  
  
Tarn’s mouth opened and closed. His gun barrels twitched. Deathsaurus arched a brow ridge. He’d never seen Tarn at a loss for words.  
  
“I-- I am, Deathsaurus. No need for apologies,” Tarn said softly, “It’s just that I--”  
  
Tarn cut himself off, optics flickering away from Deathsaurus’s. He shifted around in a way that Deathsaurus could only describe as nervous. The commander was about to speak again when Tarn surged forward and pressed their lips together once more. It was clumsy and too rough and sloppily enthusiastic. Deathsaurus grunted in pleased surprise and wasted no time in returning the kiss. He indulged his curiosity about Tarn’s treads and dug his fingers into them, mapping out their texture, dancing over the little biolights in the gaps between the tracks. Tarn was trembling against him, engine roaring, though his hands flitted awkwardly against Deathsaurus’s sides, jumping from one random spot to the next.  
  
Tarn broke the kiss as abruptly as he began it. He jerked back as if alarmed and regarded Deathsaurus with wide optics. Deathsaurus’s frame was hungry for more; his cooling fans had already spun up and heat thrummed through his valve. He should be jumping Tarn right about now, dragging him to the nearby bed (hell, the floor would do), shoving him onto his back, and straddling him. He restrained himself on account of Tarn’s confused behavior. There was clearly more going on here than Tarn had shared thus far. Deathsaurus had a suspicion-- one that initially seemed absurd enough to disregard. Tarn was so attractive on so many levels that there was simply no way it could be true. A mech of his caliber had to have had numerous partners before. Then again Tarn’s reputation preceded him, and with the exception his own small team, pretty much every mech in the galaxy was terrified of him. Maybe Deathsaurus’s theory wasn’t so far-fetched after all...  
  
“You okay?” Deathsaurus asked.  
  
“Yes, fine. I-- enjoyed that,” Tarn said, voice tinged with wonder. With any other partner Deathsaurus would’ve had flippant remark at the ready, but that didn’t feel appropriate now. This was an oddly vulnerable moment for Tarn. Deathsaurus had no intention of ruining the rapport they’d built so far-- or ruining his chances for more kissing.  
  
“Yeah? Me too,” Deathsaurus said, draping his arms around Tarn’s broad shoulders, “Kissing’s fun.”  
  
He wiggled closer until he was practically in Tarn’s lap. Noticing the tank’s hands balled into fists against his own grey thighs, Deathsaurus reached down and took hold of them. Tarn started for only a second, then allowed his hands to be guided around Deathsaurus’s waist. This close, Deathsaurus could feel Tarn’s engines rumbling deep in his frame. He ventured a light kiss to the side of Tarn’s helm.  
  
“Mmmm,” Tarn sighed. His fingers flexed against Deathsaurus’s plating. “So it is.”  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story contains explicit sticky sex. Specifically oral sex (blow jobs).

By now, it was with practiced ease that Deathsaurus slid down to kneel between Tarn’s parted thighs. Tarn watched with dim, hazy optics. His large hands tightened into the luxurious coverings on his bed. _Their_ bed? Tarn wasn’t sure-- he hadn’t bothered to think too hard about it. As their strategy meetings grew longer into the nighttime hours, they inevitably transitioned into rough, tender frags when heated stares weren’t enough anymore and hands and mouths took over instead. Tarn had been too sleepily blissed out to be surprised the first time Deathsaurus asked to stay. Tarn’s bed was more comfortable, he said. Now it was difficult for Tarn to imagine his bed without Deathsaurus in it, without the heavy, warm spread of his wings like a second blanket.   
  
Without that rakish fanged grin smirking up at him, without that nimble tongue tasting the biolights on his abdomen, talons flickering into the seams at his hips... Tarn’s engines revved sharply when Deathsaurus nicked a particularly sensitive wire.   
  
“Just making sure you’re paying attention,” Deathsaurus’s quiet laughter tickled against his plating.   
  
“Mmm, how could I not be?” Tarn purred. It was gratifying to watch Deathsaurus shiver in pleasure from a few simple words Early on the rogue commander had expressed a borderline morbid fascination with Tarn’s voice. Tarn found it odd at first-- he was used to mechs begging him to stop talking.  
  
Tarn curled his fingers over Deathsaurus’s wings as he began a low, melodic hum. Deathsaurus’s ventilations hitched and his mouth faltered. He pressed his face to Tarn’s abdomen, as if trying to get even closer to the rich vibrations of his voice.   
  
“Don’t get distracted, now,” Tarn continued. He stroked across the top of Deathsaurus’s wing to cradle the side of his helm for a moment. Deathsaurus nipped at Tarn’s fingers before drawing one into his mouth and sucking.   
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Deathsaurus said, as Tarn’s finger slid free of his lips, “You know when that voice of yours sounds best?”  
  
He raked his talons across Tarn’s scorching interface panel and winked an optic. “When you’re moaning my name as you come.”  
  
Deathsaurus’s tongue immediately followed, and the resultant throb of need silenced Tarn’s retort. Deathsaurus was always so eager, so hungry. Ever since his first taste of Tarn’s artfully adorned valve, he’d been insatiable. Systems already running hot in anticipation, Tarn allowed his valve covering to click open.   
  
“Go on then,” Tarn said, trying to sound imperious instead of needy, “You know that I always reward exceptional performance.”  
  
Deathsaurus didn’t respond right away. His gaze was locked onto Tarn’s valve, optics burning bright.   
  
“Then I expect a damn fine reward from you tonight,” Deathsaurus growled. He kissed the piercing through Tarn’s anterior node and wet his lips with the sheen of lubricant slicking the outside of DJD leader’s valve.   
  
“But,” Deathsaurus continued, pulling back almost reluctantly, “I want to show you something new. With this.”  
  
His talons tapped against Tarn’s spike cover.   
  
Tarn hesitated. That was uncharted territory with Deathsaurus. Though so was all of this, really; Tarn had come here looking for an ally, not a steady frag partner or companion... who just so happened to be exotically, devilishly good-looking, very eager to please, and able to do things with his mouth that Tarn hadn’t even imagined. His frame promptly made the decision for him and his spike cover retracted.   
  
A soft oh... left Deathsaurus’s parted lips as he admired the hard spike in front of his face. Heat tightened in his valve at the sight of it. Primus that would feel good inside him... He had half a mind to change course and climb into Tarn’s lap, but decided against it. He’d learned to take things slow with Tarn. Tarn watched him intently, only the fast, harsh sound of his ventilations speaking for him.  
  
“Your valve tastes so good, it got me wondering what the rest of you tastes like,” Deathsaurus said, lips not quite touching Tarn’s spike, not yet, “Mind if I find out?”  
  
Tarn waited a beat, and then another sumptuous purr rolled down Deathsaurus’s backstrut: “Very well. Earn your reward.”  
  
“Yes, _sir_ ,” Deathsaurus replied saucily.  
  
He began with a long, slow lick from base to tip, tongue riding over the tread-like ridges on the underside of the shaft. Tarn gasped. His grip tightened on Deathsaurus’s wings. Deathsaurus gave a breathy chuckle when he lapped across the swollen tip, and encountered the heavy piercing there.   
  
“This too, huh? I’m noticing a theme...” he said. Tarn mumbled an unintelligible reply, far too distracted by the flood of new sensations.   
  
Deathsaurus hooked a fang through the ring and tugged until Tarn hissed in pain. He was starting to develop some theories about Tarn’s more closely-guarded interface proclivities-- but that was another topic for further down the road. Much further.   
For now, his tongue continued its lazy tour around the tip, laving across the piercing before pressing into the slit. Droplets of lubricant had already begun seeping out, and Deathsaurus savored them. It was only when Deathsaurus wrapped his lips around the head and sucked that the sweet sound of Tarn’s moans reached his audio sensors. Deathsaurus inhaled deeply and flexed his talons against Tarn’s inner thighs. Primus, that sound did things to him... The first time he heard it, he’d suspected that Tarn was using his vocal talents. But as he’d gotten to know him he understood that those abilities required a degree of focus and concentration-- and whenever he had his mouth on Tarn, Deathsaurus did his best to ensure the tank could maintain neither. It was simply the sound itself, so deep and rich and resonant. While he’d always liked hearing his interface partners’ appreciation for his skills, he’d never imagined that something as simple as a moan could make his systems run so hot. Eager for more, he sucked harder and slid his mouth further down the shaft. His gaze flicked upward. Tarn’s biolights pulsed a rapid cadence in time with his spark. His head was thrown back, exposing the heavily-armored cabling in his throat. His hands had abandoned Deathsaurus’s wings in favor of leaning back heavily against the bed. Deathsaurus loved seeing Tarn like this. Enraptured and vulnerable. But, he wanted a captive audience for what be planned next.   
  
He let Tarn’s spike slide from his mouth just long enough to form two curt words: “Tarn. Watch.”  
  
Tarn heaved his head back upright, optics burning into Deathsaurus. “Keep going,” he panted.   
  
Maintaining optic contact with Tarn, Deathsaurus drew the shaft back into his mouth. He bobbed his head, letting Tarn slide deeper into his intake with each movement, fangs prickling across sensitive plating. Tarn was a large mech with a proportionately sized spike; Deathsaurus’s intake strained, and he willed himself to relax further and take more. His efforts were well worth it, as Tarn grew increasingly vocal. Finally, the tip of Deathsaurus’s nose brushed Tarn’s pelvic plating. If his mouth weren’t so full Deathsaurus would’ve smirked even more widely upon hearing Tarn curse-- the DJD leader normally found such language uncouth. Instead he gave a pleased hum. The sound danced along Tarn’s spike in tandem with his tongue. Deathsaurus’s own interface components were growing hotter and hotter, all the more so when he felt Tarn’s thighs trembling under his hands. He pulled back halfway, and Tarn’s hips thrust forward to follow. He allowed Tarn to set the pace, thrusting down Deathsaurus’s intake as he bobbed his head faster. Oral fluids dribbled from Deathsaurus’s stretched lips and mingled with the steadily increasing flow of Tarn’s lubricants.  
  
Though Tarn’s surging hips filled his field of view, Deathsaurus could just make out the rapid pulse of pink biolights, growing faster and more erratic. The powerful thighs under his hands began to twitch, and the spike in his intake pulsed. Tank engines roared, causing the shaft to vibrate against his lips. Deathsaurus was familiar enough with Tarn’s body language to know what was about to happen. The pressure behind his own interface panels twisted hotter and tighter, and he didn’t resist when his panels pinged to open.   
  
Strong hands clamped back onto his wings, almost painfully, as Tarn moaned, “Deathsaurus! I think I...!”  
  
Deathsaurus’s spark leapt in its casing. What a delight it was to have a being as haughty and stoic as Tarn come so shamelessly undone under his touch! His own spike ached with neglect even as he sucked Tarn’s harder. Tarn abruptly shifted his grip to Deathsaurus’s helm, holding the rogue commander in place while he roughly fucked his mouth. He could only hold out for a few more thrusts, and then a velvety cry escaped his vocalizer as pleasure overwhelmed him. Deathsaurus swallowed greedily, tasting every drop of Tarn’s fluid, awash in the sensation of that beautiful voice enveloping him and hot spurts filling his mouth. He didn’t relent until Tarn’s spike finally began to soften and retract back into its housing. Allowing the shaft to ease back out of his mouth, Deathsaurus licked his lips and rested his cheek against Tarn’s warm hip plating.   
  
“Well?” he said smugly, “What’s the verdict?”  
  
It’s not like answer wasn’t obvious, with Tarn’s screaming, overtaxed cooling fans and still-quivering frame, but he loved hearing Tarn say it. Proper, elegant Tarn telling Deathsaurus how much he enjoyed such filthy things.   
  
“Good. Very, very good. Exceptional. Top marks,” Tarn panted, “You need to do that more often.”  
  
“With pleasure, sir,” Deathsaurus said, climbing his way up Tarn’s chest, “Now, about that reward...”  
  
He grunted in surprise when Tarn aggressively hauled him up, only to shove him down onto the bed on his back. Tarn immediately pinned his wrists and straddled his hips. Deathsaurus fanned out his wings and rocked his his upward. Tarn’s valve was so close; he bit his lip to hold in a desperate whine.   
  
“Why yes,” Tarn purred, optics glowing bright. He lowered himself just enough to rub his wet valve lips across Deathsaurus’s straining spike. “I am, after all, a mech of my word.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarn demonstrates some of his more interesting vocal talents for Deathsaurus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story contains: 
> 
> Explicit sex, with elements of both spark and sticky. Voice kink. Some very light/mild BDSM.

Tucked against his heap of luxurious pillows, Tarn reached for a data pad on the nightstand. Deathsaurus slumbered against him, his bestial head tucked into Tarn’s chest, undisturbed by the movement. Deathsaurus always slept soundly. Tarn envied him sometimes; it had been a long time since he slept well. Being awake gave him too much time to think, and somehow his traitorous thoughts always returned to Megatron. He flipped the datapad on, intending to distract himself. Poetry. Not Megatron’s. No longer trapped in his need to compare everything to Megatron, he found a new appreciation for many of Cybertron’s classical poets. His lips moved, forming very quiet words– poetry was always better out loud, he thought, when one could really get a feel for the words.

The monster on his chest stirred. Tarn fell silent when Deathsaurus looked up at him with dim optics.

“Did I wake you? My apologies,” Tarn murmured with a soothing stroke of his helm.

“Mmm… Your voice,” Deathsaurus said, low and rough with sleep, “I love it. Beautiful.”

Tarn’s optics widened. He didn’t know how to respond. The description of his voice as something pleasant, desired even, was a shock in and of itself. Even more so from a mech like Deathsaurus, who wasn’t prone to describing things in such sentimental terms.

He froze when Deathsaurus’s talons skimmed over his heavily armored throat. “How does it work?”

Lips and tongue followed. Fangs combed through thick neck cabling. “What does it… feel like?”

Was Deathsaurus not actually awake? Did he realize what he was asking? Tarn remained silent, content with the mouth doing such lovely things to his neck.

Until Deathsaurus stopped, and propped his chin on his hands instead.

“Yeah, I’m nosy. Show me?” he said, looking distinctly more alert now.

Tarn had described his vocal talents numerous times to mutilated victims as he put them out of their misery. His control was impeccable. His mastery of spark energies was total. But this wasn’t some hapless coward to be dispensed with like so much waste fuel. Deathsaurus was his ally. His friend. His… lover. Tarn allowed himself to acknowledge that. The thought of Deathsaurus being hurt in any way was distressing at a level of intensity that took him by surprise.

“Are you asleep? With your optics on? And a datapad in front of your face?” Deathsaurus teased, and nipped Tarn’s neck a little harder.

“Spark energy,” Tarn blurted. There was no getting out of this one. Deathsaurus was ungodly stubborn. Tarn would never hear the end of it until Deathsaurus’s curiosity was satisfied. “My vocalizer operates at frequencies that can cause disruptions in other mechs’ spark energy. This produces a wide variety of sensations, most notably some degree of pain… as you very well know.”

“Yeah, yeah. If your pal hadn’t hacked into our radio…” Deathsaurus scoffed.

“However,” Tarn cut him off sharply. He had no interest in running through yet another one of Deathsaurus’s _I would’ve won if…_ scenarios. “In order to produce more acute sensations, to actually extinguish a spark, I must be present with a mech. Very close to them.”

Deathsaurus looked fascinated. He egged Tarn on. “And then what?”

“My audio sensors are… different as well. I can hear the unique frequency of a mech’s spark, when I’m close to them. I then tune my vocalizer to an opposing frequency, which  cancels out the spark energy. A fatal harmony, if you will.”

“Can you hear mine right now?”  Deathsaurus said, “Truth be told I wasn’t sure I believed all that slag about your magic voice powers at first…”

“Outliers aren’t magic,” Tarn continued, “And… yes. I can hear your spark. I always hear it when we’re close.”

“Yeah? You wanna give me a little demonstration?” Deathsaurus said.

“I believe you already had one,” Tarn replied dryly.

“That doesn’t count,” the rogue commander retorted, “I’m talking something a little more personal. Just for me. My spark.”

“I have no desire to hurt you.”

“You never said it was limited to pain,” Deathsaurus said. Tarn sighed; curse that creature for being so clever.

Tarn’s silence spoke volumes.

“Oh, can you not control it that well or…?” Deathsaurus continued, with an infuriatingly attractive smirk and his head cocked to the side.

Tarn sighed. Loudly. “I suppose I won’t get any sleep unless I indulge you.”

“Never thought I’d hear you complain about missing sleep while in bed with me,” Deathsaurus laughed.

Tarn smiled in spite of himself. He sat up, and shoved Deathsaurus to the side. His engines turned over as he climbed on top of his commander and pinned his wrists above his head. Deathsaurus shivered and arched his back.

Tarn pressed his mask to the side of Deathsaurus’s helm. His breath tickled Deathsaurus’s plating as he spoke so softly, “Do _not_ move. Do _not_ open your panel. And you _will_ tell me immediately if it hurts too much.”

“Yes, sir,” Deathsaurus growled, and ran his tongue over his fangs in that way that sent a little jolt right to Tarn’s valve.

“Good pet,”  Tarn purred. He pushed himself up off the bed and took a moment to admire his fearsome paramour, so wonderfully relaxed and submissive for him. Warm air from Deathsaurus’s vents heated his fingers as they skimmed down the commander’s chest. Deathsaurus arched into the touch, only to be left wanting when Tarn turned away and walked to the other side of the bed. Deathsaurus made an impatient, needy sound that was most definitely not a whimper.

“Such impatience,” Tarn chided. And Deathsaurus felt it. An out-of-synch pulse from his spark, a wobble of sorts. It was uncomfortable. Not because it hurt, but because it was an utterly foreign sensation. Deathsaurus had never experienced any sort of external spark manipulation. While he knew that conjunx endurae often engaged in spark-play, Deathsaurus had never done it with any of the mechs he’d fragged. It just wasn’t the sort of thing one did with a casual paint-swapping buddy.

Tarn retrieved his datapad and seated himself on the bed next to Deathsaurus. Tarn was not touching him whatsoever and switched the datapad back on. That was decidedly not where Deathsaurus wanted Tarn’s attention to be right now. Ignoring Tarn’s earlier command, Deathsaurus reached for him.

“I said: _don’t move_ ,” Tarn snapped. This time, it hurt. Primus, did it hurt. Deathsaurus thought he already knew what the pain from Tarn’s voice was like, but this was different. It was like the lash of whip across his very spark. Deathsaurus froze, too shocked to even cry out.

“Much better,” Tarn said. The pain washed away as if it never existed at all. “Now. _Listen_.”

Those words had the weight of physical touches. Deathsaurus’s spark throbbed with heat. He gasped and squirmed against the bed. Normally, internal heating and spark turbulence arose from having his spike or valve played with. This was the reverse: the increasing heat in his spark flowed directly to his interface array and stirred its components to life.

Then, Tarn began to read aloud. The words spilled from his lips rich and thick, their cadence slow and teasing. Deathsaurus writhed, pinned by invisible bonds, as his spark danced to that rhythm, swelling and growing hotter with each syllable. He was shocked when his interface panels pinged a request to open. Tarn had scarcely touched him at all, and already there was lubricant welling up at the seams of his panel, a delicious pressure building deep in his tanks. This time, however, Deathsaurus heeded Tarn’s order. He had no interest in another explosion of pain, not when he was drowning in such strange and wonderful pleasure.

Moans spilled from Deathsaurus’s lips. His entire frame ached and thrummed with the energy that Tarn so expertly manipulated.

“Is it alright, Deathsaurus?” Tarn asked gravely, lowering the datapad to study his commander with a look of concern. Deathsaurus’s moans sounded like pleasure, but millennia of singing mechs to their end in a disturbingly similar fashion had Tarn second-guessing himself.

“Yes! Primus…. yes! Just keep talking… Don’t stop!” Deathsaurus panted. Tarn had broken the spell with his last question– no trace of his power in the words– and the sudden absence of sensation left Deathsaurus disoriented and craving.

“Keep talking, hmm? I believe you’re the first mech to ever request that of me,” Tarn laughed. Under the mask, he licked his lips at the droplets of moisture forming along the seams of Deathsaurus’s interface panels. Oh, was it tempting to redact his earlier order, throw the datapad aside, and ravish Deathsaurus. But Tarn liked to think he still had some degree of control over his urges. Besides, it was such fun to watch Deathsaurus squirm helplessly, his strong, dangerous frame a slave to Tarn’s every word.

Tarn paused a moment to re-attune himself to Deathsaurus’s spark. When he began to read again he lowered both the pitch and volume of his voice. Deathsaurus howled and fanned out his wings. His jaw hung open, panting hard, and his optics glowed bright and unfocused. The intensity of the sensation pulsing through his circuits pushed his systems to their limits. Tarn considered stopping again to check on him, until he saw the commander’s hips thrusting upward of their own accord, desperately seeking even the tiniest bit of stimulation. There was none except what Tarn chose to give him.

And Tarn, his own cooling fans whirring in tandem with Deathsaurus’s, was feeling generous. Playful, even. Entranced at this different and (dare he say it) better array of reactions to his voice. He so wanted to watch Deathsaurus overload like this. It was different than when the came together during interface. This was Deathsaurus on display for Tarn’s visual enjoyment. It felt both pornographic and incredibly intimate.

Tarn was grateful he knew the next poem from memory. He didn’t want to take his optics off Deathsaurus for a single moment. He slowed the pace of his recitation, curious at how much Deathsaurus could take.

The final stanza was the most delicious agony for Deathsaurus. His spike was fully engorged yet trapped in its housing. Despite his closed panels, enough lubricant managed to seep out through the seams to form a small wet spot on the bed. The rise and fall of Tarn’s voice on each word was exquisite; almost like being fragged, but much deeper and more intense, directly into the core of his very being. Deathsaurus’s spark had never felt like this before: like a swelling star about to explode out of his chest. He thrashed, keening with need, as Tarn edged him toward the precipice of the poem’s final words. Tarn took his sweet time on the very last words, tasting them, rolling them off his tongue… And Deathsaurus’s entire frame seized. The beginning of a roar left his vocalizer before dissolving into static. His wings beat against the bed. He was scarcely able to control his limbs as the pent-up energy from his spark poured through his sensors. It lit up each one with the most powerful overload he’d ever experienced. More lubricant gushed from around his closed panel to drip down his inner thighs.

Tarn watched, enraptured, until Deathsaurus grew still. Very still. The light faded from his optics.

“Deathsaurus?” Tarn said, frowning with worry. He hovered over his commander, listening intently for his spark. “Are you hurt?”

The beast sprawled beneath him stirred. Four red optics flickered. Wings stretched lazily.

“Damn,” Deathsaurus sighed, voice raspy and awe-struck, “Can’t even remember the last time I had an overload that knocked me offline.”

“You’re alright, then?” Tarn asked, unable to contain a small trill of relieved laughter.

“Yeah. Never been better, actually. And I think I finally get the appeal of all that old-fashioned poetry,” Deathsaurus said with a wink.

“It has numerous literary merits,” Tarn retorted.

With a grunt of effort Deathsaurus rolled himself back onto Tarn’s chest. “Well, I think you’ll have to read me some more before I can fully appreciate the ‘literary merits’.”

“Perhaps later,” Tarn said, “If you show sufficient aptitude for another lesson.”

Deathsaurus’s lips curled into a sly grin and he began to slide down the front of Tarn’s body, rubbing their plating together as much as possible. His grin twisted into a smirk when Tarn moaned. Finally, he settled between Tarn’s spread thighs and scraped his fangs across the tank’s interface panels.

“That so?” he growled, “Then… allow me to demonstrate.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story contains explicit sticky sex (with premature ejaculation), and a little bit of angst and fluff.

Deathsaurus’s frame thrummed with anticipation-- even more so than usual-- as he writhed on top of Tarn. After some careful discussion earlier in the day (Tarn wasn’t exactly a spontaneous lover), Tarn had agreed to, for the first time, use his spike during interface with Deathsaurus. Deathsaurus had seen it before-- and felt it and tasted it-- but tonight would mark the first time he’d have it inside him. Tarn hadn’t made it clear if he had ever used his spike before during interface. Deathsaurus rather hoped he hadn’t. He very much liked the idea of claiming that territory for himself.   
  
Deathsaurus had intended to take things slow, as with their other sexual firsts as a couple, but Tarn was more heated and demanding than usual. The covers of their bed were already in total disarray. Deathsaurus moaned as Tarn’s hands wandered hungrily across his frame. They dug into the roots of his wings before sliding over his waist and aft. Hot air from Tarn’s vents washed over Deathsaurus as he ground his plating against the heavy, rough frame beneath him. Tarn was so solid and strong, so much sheer physical power. Deathsaurus worked his talons through Tarn’s treads, prickling across the sensors buried beneath them, and delighted in the little twitches of Tarn’s frame. Tarn’s engine revved hard enough to rattle his plating. Deathsaurus placed one knee on each side of Tarn’s hips to straddle him properly, and rocked his hips downward. Tarn surged up to meet him. Scorching hot interface panels ground together with enough force to scrape paint, and they both gasped at the tantalizing hint of pressure and friction. Deathsaurus’s panel snapped open without conscious thought. He hissed when the cool air of the room tickled across his swollen, sensitized valve lips. Tarn’s fingers followed a moment later, teasing the dense sensor clusters just inside the rim. Deathsaurus disentangled his long, pointed tongue from Tarn’s neck cables in favor of hungry, biting kisses along his jawline.  
  
“Tarn,” he panted, “Your spike. In me. Now.”  
  
“Such a demanding creature,” Tarn purred, sounding distinctly smug.   
  
But Deathsaurus could already feel the heat of Tarn’s hard length against his aft. He reached between their bodies to grasp the base, and hissed when the heavy silver ring through the tip pressed over his external node. Holding optic contact with Tarn, he dragged the head between the lips of his valve before lining it up with the entrance.   
  
“Still okay?” Deathsaurus asked when he felt Tarn trembling.   
  
“Yes! Deathsaurus, if you would, please...”  Tarn said, hands shaking against Deathsaurus’s hips.   
  
“Since you asked so nicely,” Deathsaurus said. He spread himself with two fingers to accommodate Tarn’s girth. His jaw hung slack and the smirk falling from his face when the tip eased inside. The stretch felt so good, so incredibly good, just on the sweet side of pain. Deathsaurus stifled his own moan to better hear Tarn’s-- at least until his aft touched Tarn’s hips, and the piercing pressed against the deepest ceiling nodes in his valve. Raw pleasure lanced up his backstrut. Instinct took over, and any plans Deathsaurus may have had for taking things easy were dashed. Metal clanked together as he slammed himself down with brute force. His wings flared out to their full span and his snarling grew louder as drove the tender ceiling nodes in his valve down against Tarn’s spike again and again. It felt better than anything he could remember. Delicious tension had already begun to curl in the pit of his tanks, and he didn’t even attempt to hold back. Talons raked across Tarn’s chest and left furrows in the paint there. Deathsaurus knew that the marks would be visible afterward but he didn’t care. He wanted Tarn marked, claimed, his...  
  
“Deathsaurus...!” a strangled shout blurted from Tarn’s vocalizer. The tank bucked his hips with enough force to nearly topple Deathsaurus, breaking their earlier rhythm. He would’ve slipped off entirely if not for Tarn’s hands holding him down tight. Tarn’s head flew back, his entire frame arched up off the bed, treads kneading into the bedding... Deathsaurus knew exactly what that body language portended. The engorged shaft inside him pulsed. The hips beneath him jerked. Thick, hot bursts of fluid gushed against the top of his valve as beautiful moans cascaded from Tarn’s concealed mouth. That in and of itself was a wonderful sensation for Deathsaurus: Tarn filling him up with such an impressive quantity of fluid. But it wasn’t enough to grant him the satisfaction he’d been striving for.   
  
And that he apparently wouldn’t be getting at the moment. He could already feel Tarn’s spent spike beginning to retract into its housing. Tarn threw his forearm across his optics, as if his mask alone weren’t enough to hide his behind. His moans trailed off into sounds more wretched than sated. Deathsaurus’s wings drooped. Sexual frustration still nagged at him, but it quickly took a backseat to Tarn’s distress. Deathsaurus had known better than to take things so hard and fast. Tarn lacked the stamina that came with experience.   
  
Deathsaurus laid down next to Tarn-- the tank’s spike slipping the rest of the way out in the process. Warm dribbles of fluid leaked onto Deathsaurus’s thighs, and he shivered.   
  
“Hey,” Deathsaurus said. He nudged Tarn’s arm away from the mask only for the tank to toss his head to the side, still refusing to meet Deathsaurus’s optics. Deathsaurus wriggled closer, draped himself over Tarn’s chest, and nestled his face against warm tank tracks.   
  
“Deathsaurus, I--” Tarn attempted to speak but his vocalizer hitched audibly. Deathsaurus wished more than ever that that stupid mask wasn’t in the way so he could  just kiss Tarn on the lips already.   
  
“You know what?” Deathsaurus murmured. He made do with kissing the side of Tarn’s helm. “That was amazing.”  
  
A dramatic sigh answered him. Deathsaurus was well acquainted with Tarn’s tendency toward sulking and melodrama when he was upset-- especially when he was upset with himself.   
  
“I mean it,” Deathsaurus said. He grabbed Tarn’s hands, which had fallen listless against the bed, and placed them back on waist. “This isn’t-- I’m not like--” He thought better of bringing up the past.  “I mean. This isn’t... a performance evaluation, Tarn. I don’t want you to be perfect all the time. I just want you.”  
  
Tarn finally turned to face Deathsaurus again. His optics flickered with confusion, but his arms wrapped tightly around the commander’s frame.   
  
“Yeah,” Deathsaurus grinned, “It’s true. Matter of fact... I kinda want certain parts of you again right now, if you’re up for it.”  
  
Tarn’s engines turned over and rumbled anew at the suggestion.   
  
“Are you certain?” Tarn said, words wavering with dubious hope, “My earlier performance was... lackluster.”  
  
Now it was Deathsaurus’s turn to sigh. Tarn’s way of thinking seemed intractable at times.   
  
“Yes,” Deathsaurus replied emphatically. He licked his lips. “Know how you get better at something?”  
  
“Hard work, practice, and study,” Tarn replied automatically.   
  
“Exactly,” Deathsaurus growled. He straddled Tarn again and traced the tips of his talons along the marks he’d left earlier. “‘Practice’ starts now.”  
  
“And will continue regularly?” Tarn purred as he reached between Deathsaurus’s thighs.  
  
“Primus yes, Tarn. Always yes.”  
  



End file.
